


A merry flarkin' Grootmas

by Woozletania



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Marvel Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 15,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woozletania/pseuds/Woozletania
Summary: A series of short chapters about new traditions Star-Lord introduces during a quiet time in the Guardian's lives. Events in my other fanfics may be referenced.  Mostly light hearted. Takes place after Sanctuary but won't be tied heavily into that arc. This fic is the result of a fic challenge by Grootiez.





	1. Day 1: Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grootiez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grootiez/gifts).



They were eating breakfast around the Benatar's common room table when it started.

“I'm thinking of starting a tradition,” Star-Lord said. “Based on something I remember from Earth.”

“Everything you wanna do always comes back to that rock,” Rocket groused. “What's the tradition?”

“I am Groot,” skinny teen Groot said without looking up from his game.

“A tradition is some you do and enjoy, and you do it again later. Like every year at the same time,” Peter said.

“Ah,” Drax said. “Such as my father relating the story of how I was conceived every winter solstice.”

Peter winced. “Yes. I know. I don't need to hear about that again. Or your penis. Or naked bear wrestling,” he said as Drax opened his mouth.

“There ain't nothing wrong with naked bear wrestling,” Rocket said as he handed Lylla a hard boiled egg he'd just peeled. “Long as the bear is into it too.” 

“Back on subject,” Peter went on as though Rocket had not spoken. Rocket knew the naked sparring Drax did with the bear bothered him and never failed to get in a jab. (Because Peter wasn't sure they were _just_ sparring...) “On Terra we had a celebration called Thanksgiving where we all got together and ate a lot. Just hung out, family time, you know.”

“I know of holidays like this,” Gamora chimed in. “Thanos said 'A tradition is something you got away with last year and would like to get away with this year too'.”

“I like the sound of that,” Rocket said. “I got lots of things I got away with before and would like to get away with again.”

“Be good, dear,” Lylla said. “This is just about food.”

“Still support it,” Rocket said around a mouthful of grapes. “Food is good.”

Peter looked around. “No objection?”

Drax shrugged. Gamora nodded. Mantis waved absently from the cooking area. Groot just grunted, not looking up from his game.

“All right then,” Star-Lord said triumphantly. “A tradition it is.” And so they spent the day ordering food, and cooking more, and followed the fine old Earth tradition of eating themselves into a stupor that evening.

But it wasn't the only new tradition Peter wanted to add to their lives. Oh no, it most definitely wasn't.


	2. Day 2 - decorating the tree

“You are _not,_ ” Gamora said firmly, “Bringing that thing on board.”

“Oh come on,” Star-Lord complained. He shifted the conical green tree on his shoulder. “I had to go through the whole market to find something that was even close to a Christmas tree." He winced as the “tree's” tendrils, tipped with barbs in some places, scraped the back of his hands and his cheek.

“And you wouldn't believe what I paid for it. Oh, don't you give me that.” Rocket was rolling his eyes from his spot on the ramp behind Gamora. “You spent a thousand units on fish last week!”

“Fish from Terra,” Rocket said. “I wanted Lylla to have some food from where she came from before, you know.” Before she was put in a cage, spirited off into space and Uplifted. Her lab had been gentler than the one filled with horrible people who made Rocket. That's why some of the people who made the otter were still alive.

“You spend that much on a box of the raisin cereal stuff,” Rocket went on. He held up his hand as Peter opened his mouth. “And I like the raisins too. Just saying. We both spend too much money on food. But 'Mora's right. That thing stays out here.”

“But-”

“We'll make do, Peter,” Gamora said. “I know you want a tree. We'll figure something out.”

“Fine,” Star-Lord said sourly. He plopped the five-foot-tall tree down on its bot and came grumpily up the ramp. Rocket watched them go. Gamora shot him a look as she marched Peter into the ship and he nodded. _Got It,_ he mouthed silently.

“Where do you think you're going?” The gun suddenly in his furry hand was almost bigger than he was. “You move an inch and there'll just be ashes.”

The “tree” froze. Ever so slowly it'd tried to edge its way into the shadows away from the ship. Now the tendrils beneath the “pot” retracted and it sat there as Rocket spoke into a communicator.

“Market security? This is Rocket at pad 94. Got a cotati pretending to be a tree here. Looks like one of the carnivorous types. It was trying to sneak onto our ship... _You._ I said not to move. You move and...Yeah, I'll hold it here. See you in a few minutes.”

Soon enough a couple of hulking yellow-skinned guards arrived to whisk the tree alien off to jail. Before they left, Rocket had one more thing to say. “Spit it out.”

The “tree” looked at him innocently out of the little red berries that served it as eyes. It was more dangerous than it looked and might try to make a meal of Rocket if it weren't for the guards and his gun. That's probably why it tried to get on board, to get at pets or small crew. Rocket had starved before, he knew what it was like to be that hungry, but he wasn't going to let it get near Lylla or even the humie-sized crew. Or him. “You heard me. I saw you pick his pocket.”

The tree grunted. A fanged maw appeared among the branches and spat Peter's wallet.

“Thanks,” the heavier of the two guards said. “We'll tell the port authority to waive your pad fees.”

“And pump that thing's stomach,” Rocket said, “No telling what else it's hiding in there.” 

Rocket picked up the wallet and headed up the ramp. Now, how to best take credit for getting the docking fees waived? “Pete'll probably think I nicked his wallet,” he grumbled. “Probably best to just give it back soon as I -”

He walked into the common room and froze. Teen Groot stood in a corner, hunched over his game. The tree was paying no attention to Drax, Mantis, Gamora and Peter. Star-Lord had out that box of 'Christmas' decorations he got from a junker and Groot was already draped with strings of tinsel and blown glass ornament. Mantis was just hanging a miniature Milano off one of Groot's twigs and Lylla, small enough to fit in the box, popped up out of the Styrofoam peanuts with a miniature Benatar to go with it.

“What are you -”, Rocket growled, then he relented as he saw how happy they all looked. Except Groot of course, who didn't care.

“Fine. Gimme that.” He snatched the tree-topping star out of Peter's hands, put it in his mouth and climbed up Groot to put it on the teen tree's head. “Happy now?”

And they were. They really were.


	3. Day 3 - Eggnog

Day three: Eggnog

It was the singing that alerted Star-Lord to the fact that something was wrong. Or right. Opinions varied.

He came down from the cockpit and found Drax holding forth in his basso profundo voice. He sand surprisingly well. Rocket was following along a word or two behind. He on the other hand sang vary badly.

“Deck the halls with -hic- bombs of hi-ex, fa-la-la-la-la,” he rasped. He paused to belch and wobbled in his seat before reaching for a carton. “Pete! Petey! Pull up a stump. Plenty for -hic- everyone.”

Star-Lord's eyes widened as he took in the scene. Mantis, Mantis of all people had a panel open and was gigging as she rewired the thrusters. Just at a glance he could see it was a good thing they were on a long glide between jump points and he hadn't attempted any attitude corrections recently.

Lylla was draped over the arm of Drax's chair like a furry noodle, bent in a way he'd think fatal if he didn't how impossibly flexible she was. Otters, it turned out, could sleep with their heads resting on their own butts and twisted front to back halfway along. And she was stark naked. He hadn't seen her naked since Rocket gave her a harness and she learned the joys of shopping for clothing accessories. Pieces of her harness – and Rocket's, because was naked too – were scattered over the table. He didn't want to think happened on the dining table that would result in both Uplifts leaving their clothing there.

“What the hell is going on?”

“It is Star-Lord!” Drax thundered a greeting before sucking a carton dry and reaching for another. “Watch your step, there are bombs!”

Peter realized to his horror that the floor and even the walls were thick with stuck-on mines from Rocket's private reserve. None of them had lights on so they weren't armed. He hoped. Just the same he stepped carefully. He stared at the carton in Drax's hand, the open box on the table among the bits of Uplift clothing and realized what happened.

“Damn it, you got into the eggnog! That was for later!”

“Ish good,” Lylla chirped, and belched. She giggled and slithered across the table like a snake before falling on Rocket and dragging him into a chair. What happened next Peter preferred not to think about. Two drunk uplifts. Public Displays Of Affection.

He sighed. First things first. “Get out of the panel, Mantis.” She pouted, but stepped away. Then he pushed the box of eggnog cartons away from Drax. This did not work as Drax just reached out and reeled it in again. Finally he grabbed Rocket and Lylla by their scruffs and disengaged them from what he hoped was only a grope and kiss. 

“And you two! You I can understand. Rocket, but you Lylla! You never drink!”

“Ish good,” she said with wide-eyed innocence. “Ish sugar, milk. Eggs.” And that was his mistake. The highly carnivorous otter must have taken one sniff of something that was mostly heavy cream and started drinking. Naturally that got Rocket into the stuff too and that probably brought Drax and Mantis in.

Rocket giggled – giggled! and grabbed Lylla's tail, trying to put them together in midair as they dangled from Peter's hands. They weighed forty pounds each and thanks to their cybernetics were strong all out of proportion to their size. Only their drunken state let him hold onto them so easily. Normally, grabbing Rocket by the scruff was a sure way to get mauled and Lylla was perfectly able to twist around and bite him if she wasn't busy groping her mate.

“Fine,” Star-Lord groused. He marched down the hall to Rocket's workbench, a squirming, giggling Uplift in each hand, and popped them both through the curtains into their private alcove underneath. It was a space too small for most humans but it was plenty roomy for two very friendly Uplifts. He did his best to ignore the giggling the emerged through the curtains, then the chittering and what sounded like a purr. It wasn't his business.

Gamora found Mantis, Drax and Peter around the table half an hour later, two very drunk and one getting there. As she opened her mouth at the scene of destruction, dozens of empty fresh-from-Terra (and very expensive) eggnog cartons scattered among the two Uplift harnesses, a stack of stick-on mines and bits of thruster control panel, Peter handed her a carton of her own.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “I should have hidden it better.”


	4. Day 4: Black Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's habit of bragging about Earth food creates a situation eerily familiar to shoppers back on his homeworld.

Day 4: Black Friday

“I am Groot.”

“No, not that one. Look, the shipping is double what this one here charges. It's almost the same game!”

“I am Groot!”

“All right, all right! I'll get it.” Rocket grumbled and checked the credit balance on his pad. The shipping alone was twice the cost of the item but what do you do? Groot wanted the game as his Christmas present. Whatever 'Christmas' was. Pete still hadn't explained it to his satisfaction.

A careless shopper more than twice his height blundered by, bumping into Groot and only failing to trample Rocket underfoot because he was used to being the smallest one in the room. He stepped nimbly between the alien's legs punched Star-Lord in the thigh.

“Ow! What did I do?”

“This,” Rocket said, and pointed around the market at the crowd, “Is your fault.”

“How is it my fault? Ow!” A probably-female shopper (it was hard to tell with some species, some had more genders or less, some all looked the same, but quite a few were more or less humie-like) jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow and snatched a package off the rack right out from under his fingers.

“Damn it, that was the last one!”

“It is your fault,” Rocket went on, pocketing the woman's coinpurse with a motion so adroit even Peter barely noticed, “Because every time we go into a bar you brag about how good Terran food is. So when a smuggler brings in a shipment from that rock, this happens.” He practically did a little dance to keep his furry feet from getting stepped on by two more careless shoppers, then growled and climbed Star-Lord like a tree to perch on his shoulders.

“Ow! Watch the claws!”

“Your fault!” Rocket punched him in the ear, but at least only used a fraction of his cybernetically augmented strength. “Look at this mess!” The whole market was packed with a rainbow assortment of aliens shoulder to shoulder and all arguing over who got to buy what.

He reached out and grabbed teen Groot by a leafy tendril that protruded from his forehead. “Don't you wander off! I need you to carry stuff!”

“I am Groot,” the tree said sullenly, morosely trying to concentrate on his game even in the midst of the crowd.

There was a clamor of voices near a merchant's booth and Rocket stood up on Star-Lord's shoulders, which made him tall enough to see over most everybody. “Holy crap, they just opened a crate of that raisin stuff! Get over there! Go! Go!”

“Ow! Ow! Leggo my ear, you little vandal!”

“Get over there! Mush! Mush, I say!”

Peter growled and yanked the raccoon off his shoulders. A knot of shoppers formed to snatch up the purple boxes of raisin cereal and Star-Lord lofted Rocket over their heads. Rocket twisted in midair and came down on all fours atop the pile of cereal, his claws digging in so his momentum dragged most of the boxes off the table along with him. A moment later he was standing on the pile with a gun in each hand. “Mine!”

And that was why Gamora had to bail them out of jail after their shopping trip. Again.


	5. Day 5 - ugly sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter learns that as much as Rocket has healed from his time in the lab, there are still things that bring back bad memories.

Day 5: Ugly sweaters

It started, as often happened, when Star-Lord came back from the junker with a big box of stuff from Terra.

"Oh, now what," Rocket groused, he looked up from the 3-D strategy game he was playing with Lylla only long enough to complain. Rocket was a genius when it came to strategy and tactics and a terrifying opponent on the far side of a chess board, while the otter for her part was an expert diplomat who knew when you were lying usually before you did. They were well matched in any game where deception played a part.

"Ugly sweaters!" Peter yanked a bright yellow shirt out of the box and threw it to Drax. The giant eyed it doubtfully.

"C'mon man, it's a tradition. It's just for one evening."

Mantis chimed in. "Some of these new 'traditions' are fun! I liked the eggnog one."

Rocket winced. His augmented metabolism normally made him resistant to hangovers but not, apparently, to eggnog-induced ones. "Don't look at us. We got fur."

Drax got into the spirit of the thing by pulling on the yellow sweater, which had a zigzag black line around the waist and little else. He looked up as Star-Lord chuckled. "What?"

"Nothing, Charlie Brown," Peter said to the bald man in the yellow sweater. Mantis already had on a hideous green hoodie with some sort of antlered brown animal embroidered on the front, complete with googly eyes that rolled back and forth when she moved.

Gamora took one look in the door from behind Peter, saw what was going on and silently evaporated. Even the Uplifts had trouble hearing her when she wanted to be stealthy. It was a bit frightening sometimes.

Star-Lord finished pulling on a green and white sweater featuring a fat, nearly naked humie in a red tassled cap and sunglasses. Rocket did his best to ignore the whole thing until Peter came up behind him with a fuzzy pink sweater. "C'mon Rock, you know you want to. Just long enough for a picture?"

"No," the raccoon said firmly. As he reached out to move a piece in the 3-d game Peter grinned and pulled the sweater over him, completely engulfing him in the oversized clothing. He expected Rocket's face to pop out of the head-hole and curse at him. What he got was much worse.

The very second Rocket found himself bagged in a sweater he let out a vicious growl and Lylla sprang off the sofa and away from him as though she'd gotten an electric shock. She landed on all fours and skidded to a halt facing the couch just as Rocket came out the far side of the sweater knife-first. He too came flying off the sofa, ears down, fangs out and white showing all around the edges of his eyes. The hand not holding the blade went behind him and came out with a gun Peter hadn't even known he was carrying.

"Rocket," Lylla said in a firm, calm voice even as the gun came up to point unerringly at Peter, "It's all right."

There was a frozen moment as Star-Lord stared past the barrel of the gun at the raccoon's narrowed eyes. No one dared move except Lylla, who slowly stood up on her webby hindpaws with her tail acting as a third leg. "Rocket."

The raccoon blinked and there was a click as the safety went back on. Slowly his ears rose and his fanged snarl became something like a grin. "Oh," he said. "Good joke, right?" He flipped the pistol and it ratcheted down to a fraction its size, small enough to stow away in a low profile holster now visible on his lower back. The small but razor-sharp knife went into a slit on his harness, the handle disguised as a buckle. 

Without another word Rocket and Lylla returned to their game, but the raccoon's fur took a long time to un-bristle. He only fluffed up like that when utterly terrified. He wouldn't say it, but just a moment's helplessness, being stuffed in what might as well be a bag, had shaken him to the core.

A few minutes later Peter was at the cooking unit checking the popcorn (or what the vendor insisted was real Terran popcorn anyway) when Gamora silently materialized at his elbow. His nerves were still so raw that he jumped.

“He didn't even know me,” he muttered when he'd recovered, so quietly that even the Uplifts ought not to hear him over the Christmas carol coming from the speakers. (It was a weird one. The 'solstice' album he found at the junker looked Christmas-ey but Peter was pretty sure the song wasn't supposed to go 'Dance, the cultists in their folly.' And who was this Kthuga person anyway?)

“He was back in the lab,” He went on. “With nothing but fear and hate to keep him going. That's all it took. Just one second with a bag over his head and he was right back there.”

“And what have we learned?" Gamora asked, already knowing the answer.

"That Rocket has healed a lot," he said equally quietly. He glanced out into the common area where the others were watching a movie. Lylla was nibbling on the raccoon's neck and you'd never know Rocket almost shot him earlier. Drax sat on the opposite side, arm draped along the back of the couch so Rocket only had to lean back to feel he was there and ask, without words, to have his ears scratched.

"But there are still scars. Some you just can't see, is all."


	6. Day 6 - Santa Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because it's the holidays doesn't mean Rocket will hold off playing jokes on Peter.
> 
> Carol quotes c. The H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society's An Even Scarier Solstice album.

There was something wrong with the Christmas carols. The music sounded right, but...

_Demon Sultan Azathoth bubbles in confusion,_  
_Center of the universe, sprouting foul protrusions_  
_Muffled maddening beating drums, hellish flutes a-playing_ ,  
_Round him dance the other gods, voiceless mindless sway-i-ing!_

It just wasn't right. It was thirty years since he'd heard them last, but the songs on the 'solstice' album he found at the junker just weren't...right.

The next carol started. _Tentacles...tentacles...it's Solstice eve, and it's scary!_ Thankfully, something else took Star-Lord's attention away from the music. Albeit something equally bizarre.

Rocket was sitting on the common room couch a few yards away with Groot, flipping through some of the Christmas books Peter found at the same junker who sold him the album. A few strands of tinsel still clung to the teenage tree from his short lived tenure as part of the holiday decor.

"I am Groot," the young tree inquired.

"I dunno," Rocket responded. "Maybe he swallows them whole."

"I am Groot?"

"Extradimensional stomach maybe. He teleports from house to house, right? So obviously he has access to high end tech. Maybe he eats them all in one night and spends all year digesting them."

Ah. They were talking about Santa Claus. Peter smiled at the sight of the two aliens reasoning out the fairy tale in a way that made sense to them. That comforting thought lasted about five seconds.

"I am Groot!" The tree leaned in close to stare at a page.

"Well, he eats all the naughty ones. It makes sense he's jumping in bed with the nice ones. I guess his wife doesn't care if it's just the one night and - hey!" Rocket jumped as Peter reached over his shoulder and snatched the book out of his little clawed hands.

"What the hell?" Peter snapped the book shut to see the cover - 'The Story Of Sandy Claws' - and then flipped through it. "Santa isn't a polar bear! He doesn't eat people and," he paused to stare at a rather graphic page, "He definitely doesn't 'Visit with the ladies on his Very Nice list'!"

Disbelieving, he flipped through the book again, but there it was. A rather conventional Santa story if you discounted that 'Sandy' was now a ten foot tall polar bear in a red coat. Who ate people and did Other Things. 'Naughty list' people, but still..."Where did you get this?"

"It's your book, dummy!" Rocket waved at the pile of children's Christmas books. Peter dropped Sandy Claws and shuffled through them. The rest of them were all right, though the letters on the covers resolved from various languages as his translator converted them from who-knows-what Terrain lingo to Standard.

"All right, fine. Don't read this one to him any more. You'll corrupt him." Star-Lord tossed Sandy Claws to the far end of the sofa and handed Rocket 'Twas The Night Before Christmas. First the carols, now this!

"Me corrupt him?" Rocket's voice followed Peter as he headed out of the room. "Whose stashes of 'Private reading material' does he keep finding?"

"Those were from before!" Star-Lord shouted over his shoulder.

Rocket waited until Pete was well out of earshot before letting out the snicker he'd been holding in. Groot grinned and elbowed him in the ribs. "I am Groot!"

"Yep! Hook, line and - oh hey Gamora."

The green assassin appeared beside them with the unnerving stealth he'd grown to expect but not much like. His hearing was way better than a humie's, but somehow she snuck up on him.

Gamora plopped herself down next to them on the couch. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what." She picked up The Story Of Sandy Claws and passed a hand over the cover. Once her hand got close enough the cover blurred and you could make out the real words and art underneath. "Ah, holoprojection. But where did you find the drawings for the book?"

Rocket shrugged. "Some Terran data archive I found on the hypernet. I just pasted the bear in there and changed a few words. Worked great, Pete ate it up." He rubbed his furry little hands together and cackled with glee. 

"Rocket," Gamora chided, "Christmas, these Earth holidays, aren't for playing jokes on your friends. Do you even know what Santa Claus is for? What he's meant to do?"

Rocket's mirth evaporated. "I know, Gamora. To give kids joy, and hope. All the things we never had, you and me and Mantis. Pete and Drax at least had them for a while. We never got any of that. We just got pain."

"I am Groot," interjected the teenage tree.

Rocket nodded. "Yeah, that was then. Things are better now."

He reached over and put his little clawed hand on Gamora's wrist. "Do you know what I'd ask for if Santa was real? What I'd want for Christmas?"

"Money?" Gamora looked her little comrade over. What did Rocket really want these days? Besides family? And then she knew.

"Nothing," she said with a smile.

"That's right." He looked across the room at Lylla, his mate, curled up in a basket after a long afternoon of diplomatic wrangling via the hypernet, and then at teenage Groot, his son, sitting next to him.

"Nothing. I already have so much more than I ever thought I'd have." 

And with that he slid off the sofa, padded over to the basket and crawled in along side Lylla, falling asleep in moments. Completely safe, completely comfortable. Completely at home.


	7. Day 7 - Gingerbread houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's "Guardians gingerbread house building competition" gets a little more competitive than he intended.

The gingerbread houses were a mistake.

It started out well enough. The junker Peter bought Terran goods from happened to have a crate of kits to make the houses, and Peter bought them all.

(No one at this point mentioned to him that paying extortionate prices for one thing after another from Earth was bound to cause more smugglers to head there and steal things. Sooner or later it was going to cause a problem. For now, they let him have his fun.)

Back at the Benatar he explained what a gingerbread house was, handed out the pre-baked sheets of gingerbread and other makings, and sat back with a smile as Drax, Groot, Mantis and Rocket began to assemble their cookie cottages.

He should have paid more attention. He should have seen how Rocket turned his half-built house so you could not see what his clever little hands were doing inside it. He should have noticed that Groot and Mantis did exactly the same thing. And he definitely should have noticed Drax's huge hands up to no good in his own construction efforts.

But Star-Lord was just enjoying the quiet family time and listening to the carols coming from the speakers. He'd managed to tune out he weird lyrics by now. The familiar tunes were enough. He sat back and watched as gingerbread was cut, tubes of white icing served as mortar and decorations and snow, as gumdrops and sprinkles were applied. It wasn't until a peppermint disk came hurting out of one of the windows of Rocket's gingerbread house with enough force to put a dent in the side of Drax's that he sat up and took notice.

Groot cackled with glee as a tiny missile roared out of his house's chimney on a trail of fire and bent its course toward Rocket's. Mantis giggled and pushed a gumdrop button, sending a spray of candy corn points-first across the table at Drax. Drax grinned and activated a hidden catapult, launching the entire side of his own gingerbread house across the table at Mantis's and revealing a menacing looking apparatus already loading gumdrops into a spring-powered launcher.

The mistake, of course, was to give three people who spent too much time around Rocket and Rocket himself an excuse to compete in wrecking things. You could learn a lot of dangerous things from that raccoon. 

What Star-Lord learned that day, after shouting "No weaponizing the gingerbread houses!" was that even a gumdrop can sting if flung with sufficient velocity.

But that was all right. When Gamora and Lylla got back from shopping they found the five Guardians, some bruised but all cheerful, clustered around a table munching on what was left of their battered, icing-decorated constructions. That is how they ended the First Annual Guardian Gingerbread House War.


	8. Day 8 - Hot chocolate

Later, when the Uplifts, as active as little kids even before eating half a gingerbread house each, finally recovered from their sugar rush and calmed down, Peter and Gamora settled down for the newest of their holiday customs.

"The gingerbread houses may have been a bad idea," Star-Lord said. He considered the holographic fireplace with its cheery fire, Drax conked out snoring two seats away, and Rocket and Lylla curled up together in the sleeping basket by the "fire".

There were still crumbs of hardened icing, bits of candy and shards of gingerbread cookie scattered about from the "war". They'd have to clean up in the morning. All of them showed some residue of the gingerbread house battle save the Uplifts, who had cleaned up by giving each other a thorough grooming.

"I am Groot," observed the teenage tree sitting next to Mantis.

"He's right," Mantis said. "It made a mess, but it was fun!"

"And this," Gamora said, pausing to take a sip of her hot chocolate. "This custom here, is not a bad idea at all."

"It had better not be," Peter grumbled good-naturedly. "They know I buy Earth goods now. There aren't many crews that go there and they're all jacking up their prices."

"It's okay, Peter." Gamora refilled his mug from the pot of hot chocolate she'd made. A ringed tail twitched and Rocket's eyes opened at the smell of it, but he couldn't be bothered to climb out of the basket. Curled up with his mate, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"We talked about it," Gamora went on. "We'll all chip in. Just for the season. Until your 'Christmas' happens, we'll help."

Peter nodded, and sipped his chocolate. Ten feet away Rocket yawned and settled down to doze. He'd have his share of the hot chocolate. Later.


	9. Day 9 - Sleigh ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete tries to explain what a sleigh is.
> 
> Lyrics c. The H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society.

"Some of these things, these things I remember...I actually did them. Some I just heard about. No one does all these things any more. Not where I lived anyway."

"So what's a 'sleigh'?" It was Rocket's turn to do dishes, a task he genuinely enjoyed. Wetting his hands softened their tough leathery hide and made them even more sensitive. Working with wet hands was a joy, even just cleaning dishes. Sometimes, when working on vital gear on the battlefield, he wet his hands with whatever was available. Peter didn't like to remember being passed a bomb or weapon covered with red handprints, especially when the blood was sometimes Rocket's.

"I just saw pictures." Star-Lord shrugged. He'd had so much fun this last week that missing one tradition wasn't so bad. Especially one he only knew from books. "Its a carriage on ski is that's towed over snow by horses. Big herbivore animals humans bred for it."

"Sounds primitive." Rocket dried his hands and scooted into the seat opposite Peter's. "Hey Gamora," he yelled into the next room, where the rest of the crew was clustered around the viewer watching a movie. "Where'd you put the holopad?"

"Locker 4-B, second shelf," she said instantly. Rocket's personal storage system looked like chaos to others but Gamora's was simple and rock solid. A moment layer the little raccoon was unrolling the pad on the table. Two stylii were clipped to the ends. Peter listened to the carols from the speakers as he waited. This was, as usual, a mistake.

_There's a typhoid epidemic stalking Ark-ham town,_  
_It's killed dean Halsey who's a doctor of re-nown,_  
_But Herb's chemical agent swiftly sends, his saintly soul to Hell,_  
_While his mortal remains live in a padded cell. Well well well!_

"Don't listen to that, Pete. I know the sound is right, but the words are all wrong."

"How would you know, Rock?"

Rocket shrugged. "I listen to the words. It's nothing like what you used to sing to yourself. I don't know what that recording is, but it's not Christmas carols. Just sounds like them."

Rocket turned on the pad and swiftly drew a boat shape with flat skis. "Just say what comes into your mind as I work."

"Skis should be curled up at the front. No, more. Yeah, like that. Flat sides, less boat like. Now it's got handholds for the driver, and a cargo compartment behind that. Black flat seats, like a normal carriage..."

Another couple of minutes and something formed that matched blurry memories from thirty years back. "The body is red, skis are metal, handholds are brass, and...I guess that's all I remember."

Rocket sat back. "How's it propelled? Oh yeah, draft animals." He popped four into existence with touches of the stylus and put a finger against his lips when Peter opened his mouth to comment. Apparently this sleigh was pulled by four Draxes. "Just to save time, since I had the model."

Peter nodded as he looked. "All I ever saw was pictures, but this is close."

Rocket's eyes narrowed as he thought. "There's plenty of snow on Contraxia. And they have every conceivable vehicle for rent. We could find something close and modify it."

"Do you really think everyone's up for a trip all the way there?"

Rocket smiled. "Not every year, Pete, but this one time, yes. Most of these traditions have been fun. Let's see if this one is."


	10. Day 10 - Secret Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians secretly decide who among their loved ones they'll get gifts for.

"Hi dad, um...mom." Rocket smiled at the screen as his hands fiddled with the guts of a data pad they'd taken apart without him noticing. "That sounds so weird to say. Sorry."

On the screen an older, plumper version of himself smiled back. Papa's left hand was cybernetic, a mesh of cables and joints, as was his right eye. Most of his other scars, like Rocket's, hid under his fur. They were both victims of uncaring scientists and in Papa's care outright neglect and abuse. Sometimes Rocket still regretted not killing the man most responsible for Papa's suffering but Papa bounced back faster than Rocket ever had,

"It's all right, Rocket. 'Papa' is fine. I know it's hard to get used to changes like this." It wasn't so long since Rocket was the only Uplifted raccoon anyone knew about. Then they found the stasis box and set out on that whole traumatic adventure.

Rocket shook his head. He was woolgathering. Everything was pleasant and pastoral behind Papa, grass and trees and Xandarian sunlight. There was a flick of motion as a quadrupedal Uplift scuttled by, bouncing a ball on its head.

Next to Papa was Alyssum, a fluffy white-furred Uplift that he'd been told was a 'ferret'. Kindly and gentle, she was the main cook at Sanctuary. He and Papa shared the habit of falling in love quickly, it seemed. With him in took a week, but Papa and Alyssum were as good as a couple inside a day.

"So, Papa," Rocket mumbled. He sat up straighter. No reason to be embarrassed about this. "Pete has this thing called 'Christmas' we've been doing. A bunch of Earth holiday customs, we do one a day."

"I've heard Doctor Foster talk about Christmas," Alyssum churred. "He's talked about holding it here at Sanctuary, for us Uplifts."

"Today we're doing something called 'Secret Santa'," Rocket went on. "We put names in a hat, or a computer anyway, "We each get a name and get that person a present. Just so you know, I already have something for you, Papa, but I might end up getting you something else too if I draw your name."

"You're asking us if we want our names in the hat," Alyssum churred. Like Rocket's father she wore only a harness with various badges and tools clipped on. Sanctuary was peaceful, well defended. There was no need to wear an armored outfit the way Rocket did.

"Of course we will," Papa said. "And Doctor Foster and I already have something for you in particular, Rocket."

"All right. See you in," Rocket checked the calendar, "A week. Love you dad." And didn't those words roll awkwardly off his tongue. In hindsight he'd known love of a sort since Groot saved him in that alley six years back, but until old Groot died and especially until he met Lylla it was never a word and concept he thought about, much less spoke.

"Love you son," Papa said, and Alyssum smiled and nodded. "See you soon."

Moments later Rocket slid into a seat next to the other Guardians. "They're in. Papa says Doc Foster wants his name in the hat too."

Star-Lord nodded. "You know the deal." He looked around at the Guardians, Drax, Gamora, teen Groot, Rocket, Lylla and Rocket. "Nebula can't come to Sanctuary for Christmas because there are still Xandarian charges again her from the Kyln incident. She opted out of Secret Santa."

"And mocked you for even suggesting it," Gamora said. She shrugged. "She'll come around. I'm getting her something just the same."

"Okay then." Peter punched names in on a pad. "We're all in, and the computer will randomize us and send a message to each person letting them know who get a gift for. Gift exchange will be in six days when we get to Sanctuary, assuming a planet doesn't blow up or some other emergency happens."

Star-Lord touched a control and various pings sounded as their pads received the messages. Rocket picked his up and checked.

So. He leaned back in his chair. Lylla smiled and whispered something to Gamora. Rocket flicked his ear around in a deliberate effort to not hear what his mate said. Surprises are good, sometimes.

Of course he already had something to give Papa, and Lylla. Bat Pete? What in the world would he get Star-Lord?


	11. Day 11 - Naughty or Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians discuss where they'd fall on Santa's list. The opinion is unanimous.

"So, what is is tonight, Pete?"

It was the evening after their Secret Santa get-together. By mutual agreement they tried to do one of Quill's holiday customs a night, though once or twice they'd ended up doing more. Star-Lord had a seemingly neverending supply of them, though Rocket knew this was an illusion. He'd seen the list on Pete's data pad.

Peter nodded and poured hot chocolate into each Guardian's mug. This was a custom they thoroughly appreciated and they took a moment to savor the smell before drinking. Everyone knew this was a rare treat since Terran food was scarce and expensive. The only reason there was even this much of it out this far was Quill had a reputation for buying it no matter the price. He wasn't the only human out here but there weren't many. They knew of two on Xandar and there were rumors of at least a few more, mostly humies taken against their will and made, briefly in some cases, into slaves. 

"This is a quick one," Peter said. "And I don't want anyone to worry about it too much. You know about the Naughty and Nice list, right?"

"Oh yeah," Rocket said. "The one that Sandy Claws uses to decide if he's going to eat you or give you something."

"Be nice, you two," Gamora said as Peter opened his mouth to protest. "Peter, we know Santa isn't a polar bear. Don't we Rocket?" She shot the raccoon a look.

"Eh." The raccoon sipped his chocolate. "I guess. He's more interesting that way than as a humie though." Only Groot and Gamora knew he'd vandalized that Santa book to play a joke on Peter. He knew Santa wasn't a polar bear who ate naughty people and "visited" with Very Nice ladies. Too bad really.

"Anyway," Star-Lord went on, "Which list would you end up on?"

It didn't take long. "Naughty," Drax rumbled. "I did many foolish things on my quest for vengeance. Many suffered, including some who should not have."

"Naughty," Gamora said without hesitation. "I can never make up for the crimes I committed under Thanos."

"I am Groot," said an uncharacteristically subdued teenage tree. Even he had killed in anger.

"Naughty," Mantis said. "I should have tried to stop Ego. Or at least warned people what he did to his progeny."

There was a pause. Rocket looked up from how mug. "Naughty. If it weren't for me there wouldn't be new Uplift programs and so much suffering. If I had just stayed in that lab, been a good little, little Subject..."

Lylla opened her mouth to defend her mate but Peter held up his hand. "Let me finish. Lylla, nicest of us all. Still naughty. Diplomats have to be naughty, to lie, to talk people into things they don't want to do. Its your job. And me, Star-Lord. Naughty. Ravager, all around bad boy."

He was the only one at the table smiling. "I told you not to worry over it. We've all been bad. We've all had damn good reasons to be bad. You back someone into a corner they'll fight, do bad things just to survive."

He took a sip of his chocolate, looked up once more. "This is why the end of the holiday season on Earth is also the start of the new year, I guess. You can't change what you did. All you can do is try to be better. And we have, haven't we? We've saved the Galaxy twice, stopped dozens of bad people, freed hundreds of Uplifts. We've done good."

The raccoon nodded, remembering what he said to the horribly abused Uplift who'd been forced to fight and kill his own family. Rocket used to feel sorry for himself, thinking no one had suffered more than he had. He'd been wrong. Turned out he was right in the middle of the spectrum. Some had it easier, some much, much worse.

"Be a better person," he said. "Don't let them win." 'Them' being the people who hurt and twisted you into something you didn't want to me.

"That's right," Lylla purred. She leaned over and nibbled on Rocket's neck, the love bite spot where her first bite almost killed him. "The first person you have to forgive is yourself."


	12. Day 12 - Coal in stockings

"So Sandy Claws puts presents in the stockings of good kids and the bad ones get coal?"

Star-Lord sighed. Rocket was doing it on purpose, he knew. "First," he said. "I don't know what you did to that book, but I know you did something."

"Aw." The raccoon poked a finger into the icing he was mixing and licked it. "Needs more spice...I like Polar Bear Santa. If I were a magic holiday person I'd eat the bad people."

"And 'visit' with the Very Nice ladies?"

Rocket shook his head as he sprinkled violet powder into the batter, then went back to mixing. It'd taken a lot of chiding to get him to not use his hands for everything. Finally he'd relented and agreed to use a spoon. "That was just to bug you, Pete. I've only ever been with one person. One person is all I want. I never thought I'd even have that, or how much I missed not having it. It's just so good to...wake up and not be alone, you know?"

Lylla smiled from the table with the others, where she was playing a 3d game with Mantis. "So do we get stockings?"

"That's mainly for kids, Lylla." Peter finished cutting Christmas cookies with the various shapes of cutter they'd made and slid a tray into the oven. The raccoon was working on a third color and flavor of icing for when they were done.

"Well, I'm three," the otter purred. "Does that count?"

"And I'm five." Rocket paused to do a mental calculation. "Almost six. And Groot is two."

"God, Rocket." The raccoon grumbled in mock irritation as Peter ruffled his head fur. "I always forget how young you are. When you got out of the lab you were what, same age as Groot is now? "

"Yeah." Rocket tasted the icing again. "Good thing Uplift usually includes anti-aging. Not sure how long I'll live, but it'll be a lot longer than a normal raccoon. Even Papa's probably got twenty years, they say, and he got the last part of his Uplift really late. And by then the tech may be better. Who knows how long we've got anyway? It's a dangerous life. Gotta live it while you've got it."

"I am Groot," complained the teenage tree from the table where he and Mantis were, not very effectively, trying to jointly beat the otter at the game.

"I'm sorry," Star-Lord said. "Stockings aren't on the traditions list I made. We've already got a bunch left to do." 

"Spoilsport," Rocket grumbled.

"But maybe we can do something on the last day, for our Christmas. We're exchanging gifts well ahead of that, so it'll be another set of presents, just smaller ones."

"In the meantime," said Rocket, "Coal is black, right?" He poured a pan of dark liquid over popcorn and tossed it until each popped kernel was coated. "Chocolate popcorn will just have to do."


	13. Day 13 - chestnuts on an open fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a given value of "chestnut".

The zargnut exploded, sending shards of flaming shell and droplets of boiling hot oil in all directions. 

“Crap, crap, crap!” Star-Lord beat his hand against his leg to put out a spark that stuck to his skin. Rocket's cackle of glee was cut short when we realized that his tail was smoldering. It failed to burst into flame only because Gamora poured her drink over it where he sat. He still jumped to his feet, cursing up a storm, and the smell of burnt hair filled the room.

“You did this, didn't you?” Peter pointed a finger at Rocket where the raccoon stood clutching his singed tail. Drax reached out from the couch and stroked Rocket's ears, which would have provoked a snap of the raccoon's sharp teeth back before Rocket admitted that he liked being petted.

“Oh, he gets petted and I -, oh, thanks Mantis.” Peter shut up in mid-sentence as the insectile alien passed over a tube of burn cream from the first aid kit.

“I did what?” Rocket snapped, but wilted when Lylla shot him a look. “I didn't do anything, Pete. If I'd wanted the zargnut to explode I would have used something that made pretty colors.”

Star-Lord sighed. They'd rigged up a little “real” fireplace to replace the holographic one and could even burn wood now, albeit in small quantities. But both their attempts so far to “Roast chestnuts on an open fire” had ended with the zargnut exploding.

“Yeah, I know. This is my fault, guys. You know how young I was when Yondu and company grabbed me. Some of these traditions I only know from songs. Hell, some I learned from the books that _didn't get vandalized.”_ He shot a half-serious glare at Rocket. “I don't even know what a chestnut looks like, much less what it tastes like or whether anybody actually roasted them. I didn't expect the zargnuts to explode, though.”

“I am Groot,” said the teenage tree sitting between Drax and Mantis. He held up a hand and concentrated as a bud formed at the tip of his finger. Rocket was there in an instant, his hurt tail forgotten as he grabbed his son's hand.

“No Groot, don't. Growing fruit is a big effort for you and nuts are gonna be the same. You're still growing. Maybe next year, if we do this all again.”

“I am Groot,” the tree grumped, but he absorbed the bud back into himself and picked up his game slate again. Rocket had given him his early Christmas present when they found the games in the market on Black Friday.

“Don't worry, Peter,” Gamora said. “The important thing is you tried. We're all together as a family, that's the main thing, right?”

“Got that right.” Rocket climbed up into the chair with Lylla, the two Uplifts fitting easily into a seat that would be narrow for one Drax butt. “We still have Christmas cookies from last night, and I can make some more popcorn.”

“I approve of popcorn,” rumbled Drax. “Particularly the chocolate type.”

“We could roast marshmallows,” Peter said. “If we had marshmallows.”

“There's a little hot chocolate left,” Mantis chimed in. Everyone perked up at that.

“Hot chocolate and popcorn,” Star-Lord said. “Will have to do.”

And cookies, of course. Mustn't forget the cookies.


	14. Day 14 - wrapping presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tracks down Rocket, who's still doing a bit of shopping, and makes his life a little more complicated.

Rocket was squirreled away in a nook on the Benatar and surrounded by floating screens when Peter found him.

“Go away,” the raccoon said briefly. Not that he needed to say that to let Peter know he desired privacy. The fact he'd opaqued the screens so all Star-Lord saw from his side was brown rectangles was enough of a clue.

Rocket jabbed a claw at one screen, and opaque or not Peter heard a familiar ping. Rocket had just bought something. “Christmas shopping?”

“That's right.” Rocket reached up and adjusted the angle of one of the rectangles to make doubly sure Peter couldn't see what he was doing. “And presents are supposed to be secret until people open them. So I'd like some privacy. There's not not enough room in my sleeping nook for the screens.”

“Y'know Rocket, when I was on the Eclector and I went and hid someplace with some screens to look around the hypernet, I wasn't shopping.”

The quizzical look from the far side of the screens became a glare. “That's not what I'm doing. I know you did it, Groot's still finding your “reading material” on the Quadrant and _I_ have to explain it to him.”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed. “I know.” He settled down cross-legged on the far side of the screens from Rocket. He had an armload of boxes and a roll of brightly colored paper under opposite arms and began to wrap as he talked. Past the screens he could see that Rocket was also in the middle of wrapping presents. They were both in the back hall of the Benatar for the same reason the rest of the crew was in their own hidey holes: today's new holiday custom was wrapping presents. Rocket wasn't quite done with his own shopping, but that didn't stop him from wrapping the ones he already had.

“Seriously though,” Star-Lord went on. “I did have something I wanted to talk about.”

“Yeah?” Rocket moved two of the screens a bit apart so he could see past them at Peter. “Need help thinking up a present for someone?”

“Actually, it was about you. Have you thought about what you're going to give to Lylla?”

Rocket shot him an insulted look, then bought something else with a poke of a claw. “Of course I have. Whether or I not I got her in the Secret Santa, and I'm not saying if I did, of course I'm getting her something. I already made it, matter of fact.”

“Let me guess, you made her a new tool kit, or a new gun, or a jetpack. I bet you made her a jetpack.”

Rocket just flicked an ear, his eyes on a screen. “There a point to all this, Pete?”

“Yeah.” Star-Lord glanced both ways down the hall, then lowered his voice so that even Rocket, four feet away with inhumanly keen hearing, could barely make him out. “I think you should get her a ring.”

Rocket grunted disinterestedly. “She's got webbed fingers. Ring's not gonna work.”

“So get her an earring. And one for you too, of course.”

Rocket blinked and looked up from the screens, curious enough to pay full attention for once. “Why? What's the point of that? Why would I buy _myself_ a present?”

“You really don't know?”

“Is this some Earth custom I don't know about? I don't mind these holiday ones, some of them are fun, but you gotta stop popping out new ones every time we turn around.”

“It is an Earth custom.” Peter finished wrapping a fist-sized box in bright red paper and set it aside. “When a man and a woman love each other, they get matching rings to let everyone know they are together.”

“Marriage.” Rocket looked up from his work once more. “You're saying that being together isn't enough, we should get married. I don't know if I like that. It seems like...” He looked back at a screen for a moment and said the first thing that came into his head. “Ownership.”

Peter sighed. Naturally anything that smacked of putting an owner's mark on someone would sit badly with an Uplift. “It isn't about ownership. It's a bond. Matching rings show everyone that you care enough to let people know you're together. And it can prevent misunderstandings, you know? You don't have to worry about Blackjack or Sharptooth or somebody making a move on Lylla this way.”

“They'd smell she was with me even if they didn't know, Pete.”

“Yeah.” Peter leaned back on his hands. “But humies won't. You made Lylla an outfit like yours a couple of days after you met her. A ring's not that different. Just promise you'll think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go away, okay?” Done with wrapping presents, Peter reached past the screens to pat Rocket on the head before leaving. Rocket grumbled at Star-Lord disappeared from view. He had a good thing going with Lylla and the Guardians. Why did Pete have to make it all complicated like this?


	15. Day 15 - holiday spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew goes to Sanctuary to celebrate the holidays.

For the first time in two weeks the whole crew was together in the Benatar's cockpit. They'd had a long quiet spell and made the most of it, enjoying one of Peter's newly introduced Earth holiday customs after another. Well, mostly enjoying. No one much liked the exploding zargnuts.

Now they were on a break from a break, as it were, flying to Xandar. They'd agreed that the last few traditions would be celebrated at Sanctuary so that Rocket could be with his long-lost and recently rescued father. Plus, everyone had friends there. And perhaps more than friends.

“I wonder if we can get your bear friend to play Santa,” Mantis said to Drax. “She would make a good Sandy Claws.”

“I will ask her,” Drax rumbled, “When we are wrestling.”

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Here were two things back to back he didn't want to think about: Santa as a polar bear that ate “very naughty” people thanks to Rocket vandalizing one of the Christmas books he'd managed to find, and Drax happily going on about his bouts of naked wrestling with Breaker the bear. Who was eight feet tall, fully intelligent...but still a bear. Were they _just_ wrestling? Rocket and Lylla knew, you couldn't keep secrets from noses that keen, but neither would tell him. The one time he'd asked, Lylla had very reasonably pointed out that she and Rocket were as different as Drax and Breaker. Peter didn't care that Rocket and Lylla were together, so what was the difference? 

“Normal space in two minutes,” Rocket said from the co-pilot's seat (or pilot's seat, depending on which was in charge for that flight). Skillful clawed fingers flipped switches one after the other. “We are ahead of schedule. Gamora, ping the nav beacon so we don't surprise anyone.”

The green-skinned assassin nodded and touched a screen. The days where a ship could casually drop into Xandar orbit unannounced were over. Ronan had changed all that and popping in without warning was a good way to get reduced to an expanding cloud of plasma thanks to the Nova Home Fleet and a couple of dozen orbital fortresses.

“Dropping out of jump,” Star-Lord said, and pulled back on the yoke. With a flicker the cloudy view of hyperspace was replaced with the gem-studded blackness of space Unsurprisingly Rocket plotted them to within a few meters of their planned arrival point and though they were instantly scanned by half a dozen warships no one lit up their targeting scanners.

“Xandar control,” Star-Lord said in his best serious voice. “Guardian ship Benatar requests landing clearance to city center spaceport.”

“Welcome, Guardians,” The pleasant female voice replied. AI, or Xandarian? No one knew. Xandar control was the most secure place on the planet. They weren't even sure where it was, much less who manned it. “Proceed to beacon upsilon for priority lane.”

“I am never,” Peter proclaimed to all who would listen, “Gonna get tired of getting priority lanes. And for a change not even because he's here about some emergency.”

“Be advised,” The pleasant voice said, “Landing pads are now available just outside Sanctuary. Follow indicated approach vector.”

“Even better,” Star-Lord said. And sure enough, not ten minutes later he set the Benatar down not a kilometer from Xandar memorial park in city center. The square mile of green marked where the Dark Aster came down as well as where Ego's spawn grew and threatened to consume all life on the planet. There were even statues of most of them in one corner of the park, and one of Yondu. They weren't here to visit those. They were here for the cluster of buildings next to an artificial lake.

It was a short walk from the landing pads to Sanctuary. To their surprise strings of lights now ornamented the clinic and other offices. The Welcome To Sanctuary sign was decorated with something like holly. Even here, half a galaxy away from Terra, the holiday spirit was evident.

Less of a surprise were the two Uplifts waiting to greet them. A white-furred, fluffy, long bodied one built much like Lylla and the chunky, somewhat tubby form of what would pass for a normal Earth raccoon were it not for the cybernetic eye and hand and the intelligence in his eyes.

“Hi, uh, Papa,” Rocket said as casually as he could. A moment later he tensed as the older raccoon wrapped him in a hug. For an moment he squirmed, unsure of what to do, before finally softening and awkwardly hugging Papa back. “Yeah. I missed you too, dad.”


	16. Chapter 16 - presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Secret Santa gift exchange at Sanctuary.

“Sanctuary...” Drax mused as they made their way across the lawn with Papa and Alyssum. The white ferret scuttled along on all fours as did Lylla, their short mustelid legs making this a convenient way of transport. Papa waddled along at a slower pace, rounded and bulky, while his less feral son and the rest of the Guardians went on two feet.

“It's hard to believe all this happened in a year.” Drax gestured at the arc of buildings, the sports fields, the training halls and housing blocks for Uplifts of various sizes and species.

“It all started with one letter,” Rocket mused. “If Doc Foster hadn't sent it I never would have met Lylla, and maybe never known about the new Uplift programs. Once he found one it led us to...” He glanced at the sporting field, where an assortment of Uplifts ranging from his size to a hulking bear were playing volleyball. The ferals on the teams sprinted back and forth, bouncing the ball off their heads or rumps and occasionally popping up on their hindpaws to swat it with a handlike forepaw. “All this.”

“And if it hadn't been for me escaping the lab in the first place,” Rocket started, and his ears sank. Before he could settle into melancholy Peter reached down.

“Wrong time of year to get depressed, buddy,” Star-Lord said, and Rocket grumbled amiably as his ears were scratched. The white ferret spoke up at almost the same moment.

Alyssum bent in the middle like a snake to look up at the taller humanoids. “Gift exchange, right? I have to get to work on lunch soon.”

“Me too,” Papa agreed. “But we have a little while.”

Shortly thereafter they met Doctor Foster at the dining hall. Good cheer and laughter followed as the Secret Santa (or Secret Sandy, according to Rocket) gifts were passed around. By common agreement this would be one of two exchanges, the other happening on the day they'd decided was Christmas. They had no idea if the date was right and didn't particularly care.

“I am Groot,” the teenage tree exclaimed as he he unwrapped the knitted cozy Mantis made for his new game slate. Rocket leaned back in his chair and stared at the data Gamora transferred to his handpad. She'd gifted him the data keys to the inmost workings of her cybernetics.

“Just in case something happens and you need to stop me,” she whispered, quietly enough for only the Uplifts to hear.

“I don't know what to say,” Rocket mumbled. Gamora was saying she trusted him with her very life.

Papa and Paul Foster each laughed, having drawn each other in the exchange and bought eerily similar mugs as gifts. Sanctuary's Best Counselor and Sanctuary's Top Doc respectively. Drax nodded as he admired the new wooden handle for his favorite knife, made – or more properly grown – by Groot. Mantis considered the small but very sharp dagger, plus sheath, Drax gave her along with the promise of training in its use.

And then there was Star-Lord. “What is this,” he asked Rocket. He held up a data crystal he'd just unwrapped. “Let me guess, you scavenged up all my old 'reading material' and put it on this?”

“Not quite, Pete.” Rocket reached across the table and tapped a key on Peter's Zune, which began to play one of the many mangled Christmas songs they'd heard so many times in the last two weeks.

_It's beginning to look a lot like fish men,_  
_every-where I go_  
_From the minute I got to town, and started to look around_  
_I thought those ill-bred people's gill slits showed._

Rocket pressed the data crystal up against the Zune and hit the key again. The next verse started, but...

_It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas_  
_Toys in every store_  
_But the prettiest sight to see, is the holly that will be_  
_On your own front door_

Peter's eyes went wide as he realized what was happening. “Rocket,” he said. He stared at the Zune and the titles loading on its screen, proper Christmas titles, not things like _I saw mommy kissing Yog-Sothoth_ any more. “How?”

“Eh,” the raccoon said. “Hypernet archives. Just took some digging. The Kree still keep an eye on Earth, the skrulls...you just need to know where to look.”

And for the second time in one day Rocket found himself awkwardly squirming in a hug. “Hey,” he protested. “What's with the water works? It wasn't that hard to do.” 

But Peter was silent save for the little sobs, and even he couldn't have explained why he was crying.


	17. Day 17 - happy birthday, Groot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second anniversary of the Battle of Xandar, and that mean it is Groot's birthday.

As they sat around the table after the gift exchange, and once Star-Lord managed to rub the supposed dust out of his eyes, Rocket cleared a space in front of him and grew serious.

“All right. It's the holidays, so it's a bit unfair this happens at the same time,” the little raccoon said. “But I wanted to remind everyone that yesterday was the two year anniversary of the Battle of Xandar. Later today I'll be going to the memorial. I'd like all of you to come with me. My best friend in the universe died there, to save us all. Only friend in the universe, for too long.” Lylla put a webby hand on her mate's but Rocket went on. “And a day after that we met his son.”

“Groot.” He reached out in turn and put his hand on the teenage tree's forearm. “You're two years old now, and the best son a man could ask for. Even if you do spend too much time with your nose in that damn game.”

“I am Groot,” said the confused tree.

“Yeah, I know we don't do it much, but once in a while we do something for a birthday. Especially when the person is this young.”

“I am Groot?”

“No, we don't do it for Lylla or me and I know we're not much older than you are. We were adults when we got out of our labs, you're still a kid.”

“I am Groot!”

“You are still a kid. For another couple years at least. Or do you want to skip the presents part too?”

“I am Groot?”

“No you don't get presents for last year too, even if we didn't have a party then! Don't be greedy.”

“I am Groot,” the tree said sullenly. 

“You did not learn to be greedy from watching me!” It was Rocket's turn to grumble, but he still produced a wrapped present from somewhere.

“Happy birthday, son.”


	18. Day 18 - Christmas dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew finds the inhabitants of Sanctuary preparing for a familiar Earth custom.

As Papa and Alyssum scurried off the the kitchen to work on lunch for a bunch of hungry people, Peter used the opportunity to ask a question that'd bothered him for a year.  


"How did you get out here, Paul? You and the others?"

Rocket shot Doctor Foster a glance, but a good-humored one. This despite the fact Star-Lord was referring to the pack of Earth scientists, somehow relocated far out into space, who tore apart a little raccoon and turned it into Rocket. Of that crew there were two survivors: Paul, who now ran Sanctuary, and the man they called Ernst II, the "gate clone" of the head surgeon who'd helped make Rocket and later experimented on his father. Doctor Foster had helped Rocket survive and escape, while Ernst II was safely locked up now. They'd been assured he'd never see the outside of a Xandarian jail again.  


"Slavers," Paul said briefly. "A few years back some of the crews that head to Earth to buy or steal stuff for sale took to taking people, too. They took Director Randolph's group from a yacht and later they grabbed me from my one-man sailing ship. Then they'd sink the ships and everyone back home assumed the missing were lost at sea. Some of the people they took are still out there somewhere," he gestured at the sky. "But some of us eventually were freed, and found work."

"But you remember Christmas?" Peter nodded at the strings of lights, the holly, the wreaths decorating Sanctuary, here, half a galaxy away from Terra.  


"I was thirty years old when they took me," Doctor Foster said. "I haven't forgotten what it's like on Earth. Sometimes I think about going back, but I have a life here. Family. Responsibilities." He reached down to gently scratch Rocket's ears and Lylla popped up on her hindpaws to get the same treatment.

"So when you told me you were celebrating the holidays, I thought we'd join in. You know how hard life has been for some of the uplifts." He nodded to a dark-furred Uplift in a security harness who was stretched out like a speed bump on a nearby porch. Seemingly relaxed, the musteline Uplift still watched them alertly out of ink-dark eyes and nodded back.  


"We should go to the dining hall. We can talk more about this later."

The Guardians gave a collective nod and followed Paul Foster along the arc of buildings until they reached the dining hall. There they found the "lunch" Papa and Alyssum left to prepare was a little more than that. The raccoon, ferret and half a dozen other Uplifts along with two Xandarians were in fact working on Christmas dinner. The long dining tables were covered with trays of food and Rocket jumped up on a chair to view the spread. Without a word his little clawed hand started feeding grapes, one of his favorite foods, from a bowl into his mouth. Then his eyes went wide as an even more cherished foodstuff caught his attention.

"Holy crap Pete, they got raisins."

The word pulled Star-Lord over as though by magnetic attraction and the two of them started popping raisins into their mouths.

"How?". The other Guardians were surprised to see how misty-eyed Peter and Rocket went at just the taste. "How did you get them all the way out here?" Peter gestured at the trays of food, most of which had Xandarian equivalents of Earth food. The grapes and raisins, though, were authentic.

"I've been allowed to grow some Earth foods here," Doctor Foster said. "Grapes, for one, are popular food here now. There are whole orchards, some even on Xandarian colonies." This at least explained why they'd found grapes at more than one vendor over the last year.

"Yeah, but raisins," Rocket said as he ate raisins one after another. He ate them one at a time, pausing before grabbing another, and Peter did the same. It was a strangely ritualistic behavior and each would wait for the other to grab one before taking one himself. "You wouldn't believe how much we pay for these from smugglers."

The doctor shrugged, looking confused. "Raisins are just dried grapes. We dry them right here at Sanctuary when we have extra grapes from a harvest."

The complete astonishment on Rocket and Peter's face was interrupted by a flash of white. Alyssum flowed over on all fours and popped up next to the table. "No snacking," she said good-naturedly, but her pink-padded hand still tapped Rocket's wrist. "If you want to help get the food ready you'll be first in line, though."

"But raisins," Peter said weakly. His wrist, too, got a bap from the ferret's furry paw.

"Later," Gamora said, and led him from the table by the elbow. 

"At least we know we know where to get them now," Rocket said as he reluctantly drifted away from the food.

"What is it with you and these raisins," Mantis asked. Alyssum, master of her kitchen, rapidly assigned them each a task helping prepare food. Rocket, naturally, ended up shoulder to shoulder with his dad peeling the Xandarian equivalent of potatoes.

"It's a long story," Star-Lord said. He nodded to Rocket and the raccoon stealthily passed him a handful of raisins he'd snuck out of the bowl. "When there's time we'll tell you. Together."


	19. Day 19 - Mary Poppins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter explains who Mary Poppins is and comes to a realization about his adopted father.

Twenty minutes ago the dining hall was all but empty. Now it was packed with Uplifts the size of Rocket or Lylla up through various humanoids (and even two actual humans in the form of Peter and Doctor Foster) all the way up to an eight hundred pound bear and an even large walrus. It was always amusing to watch the tiny and the huge interact. Some of the smaller creatures used Wal the walrus's long wrinkly form as a ramp to get to the food trays on the dining room tables.

Despite the sounds of eating and fifty simultaneous conversations, it was a moment of relative quiet for the Guardians. Doctor Foster, the only other human, was off talking to some fellow medical personnel and Papa and Alyssum were putting the final touches on various dishes even as they were eaten.

Rocket, who'd been stuffing himself since the moment the food was passed around – years of hunger in his early life meant he rarely refused a meal and would eat practically anything, much less food this good – looked up from his plate. As he idly gnawed on a “turkey” bone he had a question for Peter.

“So Pete. I only caught a little of it 'cause I was busy at the time, but back when we were killing Ego I heard you yelling something about a 'Mary Poppins'.”

“Yeah.” Peter paused in his own eating. Rocket somehow managed to eat as much as he did and the joke on board the Benatar was that the raccoon and otter were going to eat them out of house and home. An energy hungry Uplifted brain and metabolically powered cybernetics meant they each at at least twice as much as a normal creature their size. “She's a storybook character, someone I knew from a movie I saw in school.”

Rocket tilted his head to the side quizzically. “Storybook? You mean like Sandy Claws?”

Peter, past protest, just smiled. “Yes, like Sandy Claus. She was a nanny, someone who takes care of other people's children. But she was magical. She took them on adventures. She could fly with an umbrella.” He held his hand up next to his cheek. “When Yondu flew like that, it reminded me of her.”

Lylla, whiskers stuck together with bits of fish, stopped eating to ask her own question. “Why was she doing all that? Just to be nice?”

“It's been a long time.” Star-Lord paused to take a bite out of a dinner roll. Across the room, Papa and Alyssum, with the help of a couple of Xandarian interns, were bringing out a rolling table covered with pies. “I think she sort of had to. It was her...job, I guess, to make people's lives better. She showed up because the family was having problems, and when she left, their problems were pretty much all fixed.”

Rocket silently mouthed the same words he was thinking. _Like Yondu._ When Rocket and the crew parted company before Ego, no one on either side was really sure they'd meet again. The parting had been so full of conflict they might easily have gone their separate ways.

But then Yondu met Rocket. Peter didn't know what was said, but Kraglin told him Yondu 'Tore a strip off the furry little bugger' and after that Rocket mellowed a bit. Rocket learned something from Peter's adopted dad, something that changed him. Something that brought the crew back together, fixed a rift in their little family.

“I am for pie,” Drax rumbled as he stood up. Gamora nodded and stood as well, waiting for Peter. Mantis and Groot followed. For just a moment, though, Peter met Rocket's gaze from across the table. Peter help up his glass, and Rocket did the same. He missed his dad, and he could see that Rocket did too. And now they had something else in common: the realization that in his rough, prickly way, Yondu helped fix their broken friendship.

“To Mary Poppins,” Peter said, and they both took a drink.


	20. Day 20 - Caroling

"C'mon man, just one."  


"No," Rocket said firmly. He pushed a scrap of bread around his plate to soak up the last bit of gravy before impaling it with a claw and eating it. "I'm not drunk enough to sing. Or drunk at all, for that matter."  


"I will sing," Drax rumbled. "On my home world I was considered a formidable singer."  


"I never learned to sing," Mantis said with that sadness and guilt she always had when she talked about her past. "Ego did not cherish music. I did not know he even knew any until we found you, Peter."  


"Singing," Gamora said with a hint of a smile, "Was not one of the things I was trained to be good at."  


"I am Groot," complained the teenage tree.  


"No one's gonna make you do it," grumbled Rocket. "Just like no one's making us do it. It's just another one of Pete's holiday customs."  


"And I think you'll remember you've liked most of them," Star-Lord chipped in.  


Christmas dinner was winding down, with various full and sleepy Uplifts, Xandarian and other humanoids who worked at Sanctuary struggling to finish their plates. Papa and Alyssum were off making dessert but Peter wasn't sure who would eat it. Fifty-plus Uplifts including an eight-hundred-pound bear and a walrus even larger than that made quite an inroad into the prepared food but everyone who showed up left full and with leftovers if they wanted them.  


"I think," Lylla churred as she slid back into the seat next to Rocket's, "That we should do one song, just to see how it sounds. If we're all terrible we can stop."  


"Fine," grumbled the raccoon. "I'll sing one. But I get to pick it."  


“And none of those fake ones,” Peter warned.  


“Hey,” Rocket said. “I was the one who got you the real ones back, remember? If it weren't for me we'd still be listening to 'Dance, the cultists in their folly'.” He poked at Star-Lord's Zune with a claw. “Okay. Now the music of this we'll all know from the fake songs, but we're going to have to learn the words. I've only heard it once myself, when I was making sure it was a real carol thingie before buying it.”  


His claw clicked on the glass and the carol started. The familiar music, the pleasant but unfamiliar words.  


_Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays_  
_'Cause no matter how far away you roam_  


Before they even made it through one verse, something unexpected happened. A rabbit Uplift's tall ears swiveled at the sound coming from the Zune, and he turned with eyes wide. As the song continued, he opened his mouth and joined in, and he wasn't alone.  


_When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze_  
_For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home!_

Across the room, one Uplift after another gave voice to the song until the walls rang with the sound. They knew the song, knew it by heart, and they'd sung it enough times that their voices joined together in a great chorus of deep tones and high-pitched ones alike.  


“You look surprised,” Paul Foster said as he sat down next to Drax. “I'm from Earth, remember. And you happened to hit on my favorite carol. Songs about home are very dear to our hearts here. Look.”  


He nodded across the room to Alyssum, where the white ferret held out her hand to almost a mirror image of herself. Dark-furred Sharptooth rose to his hindpaws and took her hand and together, to the complete astonishment of the Guardians, began to sing. Nearby, Papa watched with a fond smile as his mate and her almost-brother sang along with the carol.  


“Alyssum I'd understand,” Peter said. “But Sharptooth? I thought he was, well, bitey, not sing-ey. Like some of the Uplifts who had a really bad time when they were made.”  


“You don't want to know, Pete,” Rocket confirmed. “They were in that lab together. They're sort of brother and sister, still. Not related, but you don't gotta be to be family.”  


Rocket touched his wrist and a floating screen appeared. With a few stabs of a claw lyrics popped up, and he nodded as he scrolled through until he found the one currently playing.  


“Changed your mind, Rock?”  


“Pete.” the raccoon said, and nodded across the room at the pair of weaselly singers, “Those two had it worse than I ever did, and look. Even mister 'I'm so jumpy that if you touch me you'll lose a hand' is singing. If he can sing with his sister,” he reached over with his free hand and hugged Lylla close, “I can sing with my mate.”  


And so they did, and not just one song. They went through an album and a half of carols, joined by half the population of Sanctuary, before their vocal chords tired. The highlight of the evening was Drax and his eight-hundred-pound wrestling partner laying down the baritone as the smaller Uplifts and humies hit the high notes.  


And Drax was right. He really was a good singer. The same could not be said for the rest of the Guardians. Rocket, in particular, couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and Pete wasn't much better. But it wasn't about being great singers. Like the rest of the holiday traditions it was about being with family, and in a room full of happy Uplifts who they'd helped find a home of their own, the Guardians were in the midst of the biggest family get-together of their lives.  


And the last song of the evening, before they all finally turned in, was the one they started with. The perfect song for the occasion, it turned out.  


_Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays_  
_'Cause no matter how far away you roam_  
_If you want to be happy in a million ways_  
_For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home!_  
_For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home!_


	21. Day 21 - snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because what good is planetary weather control if you can't call in a nice snowstorm on demand?

Peter Quill learned several new things after Christmas dinner.

The first was that Xandar possessed an elaborate weather control system. They walked out of the dining hall into a beautiful silent snowfall, with several inches of soft white powder already accumulated on the grass. A laughing feline Uplift no taller than Gamora’s waist ran by, trying to pack powder-dry snow into a snowball and failing miserably. That didn’t stop the vastly larger bear behind him from scooping up a mass of white powder and flinging it after him.

“Breaker,” Drax exclaimed happily, and without hesitation swung a mighty fist at her snout. Only after saying her name, though, and that gave the bear time to turn smoothly in place so the blow just missed. Breaker was one of the security staff at Sanctuary for a reason and a barely handlike forepaw larger than Quill’s head glided out to wrap Drax’s waist as she used the momentum of her turn to throw the muscular alien into a hedge.

“Ha!” Drax burst out of the shrubbery in a shower of snow and half a dozen Uplifts of various sizes formed a path as he and the towering bear made their way to the sparring circle. Snow wasn’t about to stop Drax from enjoying a tussle with the only person around he could use his full strength on without breaking his opponent.

Star-Lord sighed and shook his head. Breaker, too relished an opponent who could take a hit – or a careless scrape of her claws – and just like last time, Drax would probably show up later with his clothing in tatters. Peter really didn’t need to be regaled with another tale of naked bear wrestling, but here they were.

Luckily there were other distractions. Lylla, tired of waddling through what to her was thigh-deep snow, suddenly threw herself belly first onto it and slid along for a meter or two like a toboggan. She popped up on all fours and bounded forward to build up momentum before doing it again, leaving a series of pawprint dots and belly dashes in the snow. The sight of her sliding along and Rocket chasing after her, also on all fours but built wrong to belly slide, made Peter snap his fingers.

“Sleds!” he exclaimed. “They have snow here, somehow,” He waved at the sky, where the lights of distant city buildings clearly showed it was snowing in the park and at Sanctuary but not a mile away. “They’ve got to have sleds. Someone will have thought of that.”

They had. “That way,” Blackjack the hare said on his way to watching Drax and Breaker spar. “They got the sleds out when Doc Foster called in the snow.”

Peter never noticed the slope between the buildings at Sanctuary and the sports field before. Perhaps it was a relic of the Dark Aster crashing here two years ago or perhaps it was as engineered as most of the landscape in Center City. What mattered now is that gentle incline was just steep enough for a good slide on a sled. Lylla didn’t need a sled and slid nosefirst down the slope and Peter grabbed a humie-sized sled just as Rocket grabbed one half as large.

Gamora was right behind them and even Mantis couldn’t resist the snow disk a big-tailed black and white Uplift passed her. Papa was right beside the skunk handing out snow disks to the less anthropomorphic Uplifts. Half the staff and population of Sanctuary was out enjoying the snow, some just catching flakes on their tongues, others loping through the white stuff, a few tussling like Breaker and Drax and a couple of groups out singing carols.

Most, though, gathered at the sled slope. The long-bodied Uplifts like Lylla and eventually Alyssum and Sharptooth didn’t need sleds at all. Even Wal, who weighted at least a ton, slid down the slope on his belly like a snowplough out of control.

Some, though, didn’t have the tube shape needed for that sort of fun and instead relied on artifice. “Race you,” Rocket said as he readied his sled. Star-Lord smiled and nodded.


	22. Day 22 - Christmas lights

At the end of a long and eventful day the guardians, minus Drax, found themselves putting up Christmas lights.

"Doc Foster had you doing the same stuff Pete's thought up for us, huh?" Rocket nodded to his father, who though plump and feral in build still had perfectly good hands for passing up strings of bulbs. Even if one of those hands was cybernetic. "When we got here the place was half decorated already."

"He advanced the idea," Papa replied. "We put it to a vote." He gestured, indicating the strings of lights adorning many of Sanctuary's buildings. They twinkled like stars among the falling snow. "It was unanimous. Even Uplifts who've graduated from Sanctuary and gone on to jobs and lives came have come back to visit for the holidays. You know what this season is for, right?"

Peter looked down from the ladder. As the tallest person present he got to hang the highest strings of bulbs. "I was little when they took me from Earth. I remember some of the religious stuff that went with Christmas. But mostly I remember that it's about family."

"That's right." Papa looked out across snowy Sanctuary, where Uplifts and a few humanoids laughed and played. Some were still sledding, some threw snowballs, and a group of tech-minded Uplifts were building an elaborate snow fort. "Life was hard for almost all of us early on. Family helps put that behind us."

Peter, concentrating on the string of lights in his hands, nodded. "That's what I remember from Earth. Christmas, the holidays, was a way to say "All the bad things that happened this year are done. Time to move on."

Rocket touched a control on his wristband and Christmas carols came on the PA speakers scattered around Sanctuary. A moment later the music was drowned out by louder noises.

"And it's about fun," he grinned, and touched another control on his wrist. With a series of pops strings of bulbs they'd spent the last hour hanging began exploding. Each bulb went up in a firework the color of its light. Nearby Uplifts laughed and pointed as strings of bulbs went up in a series of blinding flashes. Somehow Rocket rigged the things to go up spectacularly but without causing so much as a scorch match on the eaves.

"Rocket!" Papa recoiled in horror. "We just put those up!"

"Worth every minute, dad!"

The bad news was they'd just spent a good part of an evening putting up bulbs that, it turned out, Rocket booby-trapped to explode. The good was that at least the raccoon made some darned fine fireworks out of them. 

And the other good news, for some of them anyway: once the last bulb exploded in a shower of colored sparks, they got to watch Peter tap his foot and glower at Rocker as the raccoon put the bulbs right back up again.


	23. Day 23 - Yule log

The twenty-third holiday of Peter's holiday traditions was an easy one. The quarters they'd been granted at Sanctuary included an actual fireplace instead of the holographic ersatz one they'd rigged up on the Benatar. That meant all that was needed was to ask for some firewood and one particularly large bit of trunk to serve as a yule log.

“The idea,” Star-Lord explained, “Is that after all the hustle and bustle, we can just sit around and enjoy the fire. The yule log is big enough it should burn all night, so we don't have to do a thing.”

(The environmental minutia that came from holding a millenia-old custom on a planet with advanced technology didn't impact on their enjoyment. No one worried about the filters in the chimney keeping the particulates out of the atmosphere, or that the “log” was most likely printed in a fabber from recycled materials. All they cared about was that the log burned, the warmth was pleasant, and they were tired after a long, busy day.”

“And nothing is what we are doing,” Gamora said from the couch next to him, because they were the only ones still awake. It was almost midnight and there was no sign of Drax, whom they'd last seen heading off to spar with Breaker the bear. Mantis was stretched out on the shorter of the two couches, worn out by days of shopping, travel, storytelling, sledding and more. Groot only stayed in his chair because he'd anchored himself with a web of vines and Rocket was curled up in the seat nearest the fire with Lylla's bendy otter body wrapped in an arc around him. That just left Peter and Gamora.

“It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” Peter said, then failed to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. “Man, it's been a long day.”

“A good day,” Gamora said. “It's nice to have some quiet time for a change.”

She opened her mouth to continue, but saw that Peter was already asleep. Outside the window snowflakes still fell. Everyone was tired, her included. Gamora smiled, snuggled up against Peter, and joined him in slumber.


	24. Day 24 - 'Twas the night before Grootmas

'Twas the night before Grootmas, and all through the house...

(Well, not so much a house as the guest quarters they'd been assigned)

Not a creature was stirring...

Peter and Gamora, slumped on the sofa, her head resting in the hollow of his neck;

Mantis, leaning back against teenage Groot, who was as tired as any of them but had grown a headrest just for her, and himself only still in his chair due to a web of vines he's made to anchor himself;

Closest to the fire, not in his little round “travel bed for anthropomorphs, size four” but curled up in a ball on the seat of a humie-sized chair slept Rocket, worn out by a long day of everything from travel to helping make dinner to sledding caroling to stringing Christmas lights (and then stringing them again when the first batch exploded)...

There was Rocket, curled up tight with his soul-mate Lylla curled up with him, her long water-weasel body wrapped partway around the ball of sleeping raccoon, both so tired they'd barely lasted five minutes in front of the fire before falling into a dreamless slumber.

(No stockings. They'd all get coal anyway, was the common consensus).

(No more hot chocolate. They'd drunk the last of it days before, and unlike grapes (and raisins!) Doctor Foster hadn't managed to transplant this Earth food out to Xandar. Out here, half a galaxy from Earth, chocolate was a scarce commodity no matter how much you were willing to pay.)

(And no sign of Drax. Still sparring with Breaker the bear, at two A.M.? Who knows.)

Just the other six Guardians, all so sound asleep the whistle of air past the windows as as the snow continued to fall had not a prayer of waking them. They'd had a long, hard day, and earned their rest. 

So it could honestly be said, at the end of the day (and unless you count the gentle rise and fall of his furry chest...)

...Not a creature was stirring, not even a raccoon.


	25. Day 25 - Merry Flarkin' Grootmas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all wraps up the way it started, really: with a family all together, safe and happy.

The yule log was a mass of glowing coals and ash when a knock on the door woke the crew on Grootmas morning.

"Gah, morning already?" Star-Lord stretched and yawned as Lylla burst out of the chair she'd slept in with Rocket and made a beeline for the smaller of the two bathrooms. The raccoon rolled out of the chair and landed neatly on all fours despite still being half asleep. He'd fallen asleep at (and off of) workbench stools enough times to master the art of a good landing.  


"Keep your fur on," he grumbled as the knock came at the door again. Mantis was still yawning, Groot hadn't finished detaching himself from the chair he'd vined himself to and Gamora and Peter were still disentangling themselves from each other. That left him.

He slapped the door control with a clawed hand and was almost blown backwards by the mighty "HO, HO, HO!" that blasted in the door as soon as it opened. Not one but two Santas were outside and even the smaller one was huge.

It was Drax and Breaker in matching red outfits, the six-and-a-half-foot-tall gray-green alien looking almost comically small next to the towering bear. Rocket blinked as he recognized her, for though her muzzle and ears and face were the same shape Breaker had gone pure white overnight. 

"Sandy Claws," Rocket said wonderingly, and a sly look crossed his face. "What did I tell you Pete! 'Vandalize that book' my ass!"

"No arguing on Christmas morning," Breaker growled good-naturedly. "Santas are very busy this morning. Here," she said, and passed him a basket from the big red bag she carried. "Christmas treats for the crew."

They'd spent almost a month celebrating Star-Lord's nostalgia with daily traditions. Some they'd liked and some less so. But this one, this quiet morning eating sweets from a basket and passing gifts around the circle of loved ones, this was maybe the best of all. Because it wasn't about the presents, or where they were, or even the traditions, really. It was about being together, as a family.  


Star-Lord shook his head as Lylla opened her gift from Rocket. It turned out to be a cunningly wrought armored helmet to go with her harness, with displays on the inside of the goggles and built-in translators to augment her already formidable linguistic skills. It was a hopelessly practical gift and exactly the sort of thing you'd expect from the raccoon.

"I told you, man," Peter muttered to Rocket when Lylla was distracted. "You know what you should get her."

When they went to breakfast a little later they found Papa and Alyssum in matching silver wristlets and that made Star-Lord smirk triumphantly. He'd wear Rocket down. It was just a matter of time.  


But that could wait. It was Christmas at Sanctuary, there was snow on the ground and food on the table. They were safe, and they were happy. Who could ask for anything more?


End file.
